


The Serpent You Know

by Franzeska



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Come Inflation, Dubious Consent, Fanfiction, Kink Meme, M/M, Snakes, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-08 07:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzeska/pseuds/Franzeska
Summary: Crowley turns up in a strange mood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Omens kink meme prompt:
>
>> ["A/C, Snake!Crowley with pleasurable venom](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=64104#cmt64104)
>> 
>> Bite me."
> 
> The AO3 version is slightly revised for repetitive wording, punctuation, etc. 

A month after the apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley failed to turn up for tea.

It was a champagne tea and very nice. Aziraphale stared longingly at the scones on his neighbor's table. He breathed in the delicate scent of Darjeeling, the sugar wafting from the little pink cakes fresh from the oven, the faintest hint of dill from a salmon sandwich across the room. There was not one whiff of brimstone.

He sighed and got up. It wasn't like Crowley to have forgotten. It _was_ like him to sulk, especially when he knew that Aziraphale was perfectly right and he had no cause to be in a snit about it. His decor _was_ absurd now that they didn't have a façade to maintain. No one could possibly enjoy furniture _that_ uncomfortable.

When Crowley failed to turn up the next day either, Aziraphale visited his apartment. He'd sworn not to come back until Crowley replaced that atrocious torture device of a sofa. Tartan was a joke: he wasn't expecting _miracles_. If Crowley honestly thought—but he had no opportunity to confront Crowley about it. The demon wasn't there.

On the third day, he was so distracted that he knocked over a mug of cocoa and had to spend the afternoon miracling pages dry.

On Friday, Aziraphale went to the park and fed the ducks. The sun was high, and the bookshop sweltering. He hadn't been able to focus on a single book all morning. The ducks squabbled as usual, and a particularly elegant and peevish black swan hissed at them as it tried to steal their bread. _Naturally bad-tempered, swans_ , he thought. If one of them wandered off to have a sulk, he'd think nothing of it.

"If only he _has_ gone to sulk," he said to the swan. "Because if he hasn't… If he _hasn't_... Oh dear."

The swan hissed and made a lunge for the last of the bread.

❧

Crowley's apartment was shockingly cold. It had the kind of expensive and wasteful air conditioning that trumpeted its owner's wealth. Crowley turned it on when he wanted to impress someone. Usually, he went to the bookshop and curled up in one of the cozy chairs.

Aziraphale walked through the freezing rooms. Had they been this cold the last time he'd been here? It would be like Crowley to have them on a timer. He sighed and turned back towards the front door.

Something slithered in the apartment.

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. What was that? A curtain blowing in the air from the vents? But there were few draperies in the place, and it had sounded more deliberate. The stealthy sound like fabric sliding over polished floors came again. Aziraphale hurried towards it.

Crowley lay on the floor next to his bed.

For a horrified moment, all Aziraphale could see was the blood. Then Crowley moved again. The silk of his shirt brushed against the floor and the bed frame. He'd managed to get the shirt part way off: the black silk flowed around one white shoulder and gaped over his pale chest. One hand made a vague gesture towards his collar, then dropped back. His limbs twitched, and he pushed himself against the bed frame again. The shirt slipped, revealing more of his chest. Someone had cut him repeatedly. Dark blood oozed sluggishly from dozens of little wounds.

Aziraphale knelt. "No, no, my dear, let me help you," he said, easing the shirt the rest of the way off.

Crowley's back felt sticky under his hand. He'd been cut there too. Aziraphale used the shirt to dab at the wounds. They weren't deep, but there were so many, and they smelled peculiar. He sniffed. What _was_ that scent? Something medicinal, half strange and half familiar. It was all over the demon.

Crowley's eyes opened.

Aziraphale sucked in a horrified breath. Instead of warm, friendly gold, he was staring into pools of inky black. It was like staring into the eye sockets of a skull.

Crowley's eyebrows twisted into something approximating a frown. "No," he mumbled.

"It's all right. I'm here now."

"No… Leave… Go…"

The words came out in a soft hiss. Aziraphale had to lean close to hear him. When he straightened again, Crowley was panting. Fresh sweat stood out on his brow. A drop ran down his chest to the waistband of his ridiculous leather trousers. Crowley shivered.

"Right. We'll have to get you out of these."

Aziraphale tutted. Did the demon _have_ to wear his trousers quite so tight? It was no wonder he hadn't been able to get them off himself. Aziraphale reached for the top button.

Crowley seized his hand. A moment ago, he'd seemed weak, but his grip crushed Aziraphale's wrist painfully. "No," he hissed again. "It's not sssafe."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're perfectly safe with me."

"Not you. Me..."

Crowley began to shudder again. Aziraphale pried his weakened fingers loose and unzipped his trousers. Peeling them off of his legs was rather like wrestling a lethargic but uncooperative python. Aziraphale scooped him up and deposited him on the bed.

"You'll be much more comfortable up here, my dear," he said.

Crowley only mumbled incoherently in reply. He was still sweating. Aziraphale mopped his chest again. The medicinal smell was stronger. It puffed out of Crowley with every breath. Aziraphale leaned closer, trying to place it. He examined the wounds. Yes, the smell was stronger there. And was that a hint of some kind of salve? He ran a finger lightly over one of the deeper cuts. Crowley twitched at the contact.

Murmuring an apology, Aziraphale rubbed his fingers together. He felt the prickle of demonic fluids. The blood smell was the same as an angel's or a human's, but under that… what _was_ it? It smelled rather like Crowley himself: a whiff of sulfur and spices. It was the sort of smell that clung to the Bentley and to his own bookshop. He'd caught hints of it in Hell, amongst the far more pervasive smells of wet mold and rot. Gabriel would probably have called it the scent of evil. Aziraphale had found it strangely calming in the middle of Crowley's sham trial.

He touched a finger to his tongue. Sweet? Bitter? It reminded him of one of those musky perfumes the silent film stars had worn—the sort of thing that went with copious black eyeliner and no knickers.

Or perhaps it was Crowley's naked skin against his black sheets, black walls, and black floor that had him thinking of those days. Aziraphale was torn between worry for his friend and embarrassment.

"My dear," he said, patting Crowley's cheek. "Can you tell me what's happened? I'm rather afraid someone has dosed you with something."

Crowley mumbled something. It sounded like… _Bad demon?_

"Well, yes, rather by definition, no?"

Crowley mumbled again, but he couldn't make it out.

Aziraphale sighed. Perhaps closing the cuts would help. He removed his jacket, folded it, and set it safely out of the way. Then he placed his hand on Crowley's chest. Thankfully, the wounds only extended as far as the top of his hips, but this was still frightfully embarrassing. Crowley would be mortified when he recovered. Aziraphale held the image of Crowley flustered and being rude to cover it in his mind as he pinched together each cut for a count of three, then rubbed his thumb over perfect white skin. A vain creature like his demon would not appreciate scars.

"Half done," Azirphale announced.

He gently maneuvered the demon onto his side. Crowley hissed and curled around him. Crowley's skin was cool. Perhaps he liked the warmth. It was the sort of snake-ish thing he'd never have done while properly awake. _He'll be fine,_ Aziraphale told himself.

He settled Crowley on his stomach and went to work on his back. Pinch, hold, wipe. Pinch, hold, wipe. He drew soothing circles with his thumb after each cut was healed. Crowley's blood pricked at his skin. He only hoped he wasn't providing a similar irritant. Crowley gave a sigh and wriggled his hips.

"That's right. Just relax. I'm nearly done."

The next cut felt oddly smooth under his thumb as he closed it. Aziraphale used his handkerchief to wipe away more of the blood. This one hadn't healed properly. There was a mark, dark against the pale rise of Crowley's buttock.

He leaned closer to inspect it. No, not a mark—scales!

Aziraphale ran his fingers over the patch. These little quirks did pop up from time to time. It was probably nothing to worry about. He closed another cut. More scales.

"Crowley?"

The demon made a purring, hissing sort of noise and settled himself more firmly into the bed. _He sounds better_ , Aziraphale thought with relief before noticing the demon had managed to shift so that Aziraphale was palming his buttock.

Aziraphale jerked his hand away. "Just a few more now," he said.

The cuts were closing, but the patches of scales were growing. They surfaced under his fingers as he worked and expanded across the pale surface of Crowley's back to join up with others until the demon was a patchwork of shining black diamonds.

Crowley shifted under his hands. "Am I hurting you, my dear?" Aziraphale started to ask, but no, that had not been a sound of pain. In fact… _Oh dear_ , he thought as the scales raced across Crowley's skin. The last pale, soft human patches disappeared under a tide of serpentine black. Crowley's back rippled. His form stretched, and with a long hiss, he melted back into the serpent Aziraphale had first met all those millennia ago. Or… almost the same serpent.

Aziraphale remembered the garden. He remembered Crowley's eyes. But surely, Crowley had been as long as Aziraphale was tall, or only a bit more. Now, the demon seemed to have exploded into slinky coils. The serpent lay all around Aziraphale on the bed, occupying far more space than the man. The wide point of his body was as big around as Aziraphale's thigh. Aziraphale dimly remembered hearing once that snakes never really stopped growing. They simply got larger and larger as they aged.

The coils writhed, and the serpent raised its head. Glowing yellow eyes stared into his. "Angel…" he hissed.

"Oh, thank Heaven," Aziraphale said.

"Not precisssely."

He laughed weakly. "You know what I meant: Your eyes are back to normal."

"Yesss. I feel more like myself than I have in agesss."

The serpent slithered around him. Aziraphale shifted. He was an angel, but millennia of inhabiting a more or less human body had given him some of the instincts of one. Right now, his human hindbrain was screaming at him that they were surrounded by a _very big_ snake. He shoved the feeling down.

"Are you quite recovered?" he asked. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The serpent gave a decidedly human snort. "Hell and their silly punishments. As if I needed help to know my own instinctsssss..."

His head dipped down. He seemed to be examining Aziraphale's shirt front. The angel felt his pulse speed up. Really, this talk of instincts was absurd. What they needed was to get Crowley back to his human form and to have a nice cup of tea.

"You smell deliciousss…"

Or a spot of lunch. Of course Crowley was hungry after wherever he'd been. How foolish to think that Heaven and Hell would leave them alone.

Crowley's head dipped lower.

Aziraphale was hungry too, now that he thought about it. Lunch would settle his stomach. It had no cause to be leaping about like it currently was.

"My dear," he said. "Err… Oh my."

Crowley's serpentine head ducked under his shirt. It must have come untucked when he'd hauled the demon onto the bed. A forked tongue tickled against the soft flesh of his stomach.

"Crowley!"

The serpent insinuated more of his bulk into Aziraphale's shirt. And now his head was slithering down again. Aziraphale watched in mute fascination as the shirt over his stomach bulged like that horrifying science fiction film Crowley had dragged him to. But— _oh_ —now Crowley was snaking his way under Aziraphale's belt, and that was even more disturbing. A snake that thick shouldn't have been able to fit. The belt dug painfully into Aziraphale's side.

"Crowley, you really must—"

Buttons strained. Seams groaned. Stitches popped. Aziraphale's clothing gave way with a tremendous ripping sound. He stared down at the remains of his fine tailoring and at the writhing mass of serpent covering his torso and legs.

Crowley's tongue flicked out, testing the air. He lowered his head to rub his cheek against Aziraphale's crotch.

It was Aziraphale's custom to make an Effort most of the time. Fitting in with the locals, he'd have told Upstairs back when they were still speaking. In actuality, he liked to be ready for a quick wank almost as often as he was ready for a nice cup of cocoa. And if he'd sampled one or two other things, surely, that was all part of the job. Nothing to take notice of. No real difference from _not_ making an Effort. Except that right at this moment, he rather wished he hadn't. Well, that was easily fixed: He reached for his power.

Crowley's head whipped up. His tongue flickered out. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I… err…" Aziraphale imagined he was turning rather pink. "I just thought—"

Crowley was already moving. His head lowered again to Aziraphale's lap. His mouth was opening. Two long, glistening fangs emerged. Every human instinct screamed.

"Wait! _Oh!_ "

Crowley buried his fangs in Aziraphale's thigh. The pain was instantaneous, followed by a rush of heat. It rolled upward to lodge in his stomach, his chest. His face felt tight. Belatedly, Aziraphale tried to struggle, but the venom was already spreading through him. He felt weak, floaty. The pain of fangs withdrawing sent a frisson of sharp pleasure through that haze of warmth.

Crowley moved back a little. His serpentine cheek brushed against Aziraphale's cock. It was already half interested.

"What have they done to you?" Aziraphale asked muzzily.

"I've been ssso inhibited," the serpent hissed. "Ssso ressstrained. They showed me that I must be myssself."

The bite marks stood out in the pale expanse of Aziraphale's thigh, somehow more intimate than the snake's body brushing against his crotch. He reached for his powers. Now would be the time to _stop_ making an Effort, but his head was so fuzzy already, and those serpentine coils felt so good sliding over his body.

Yellow eyes regarded him thoughtfully. Aziraphale whimpered.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley rearranged himself. He was so long that it seemed as though he was slithering in every direction at once. He coiled around Aziraphale's arms, his chest, under his legs. The wide middle of his body pressed up between Aziraphale's thighs, spreading them apart. He wrapped himself firmly over the bite mark, sending another spike of pleasure up Aziraphale's spine.

It should probably have hurt. Aziraphale looked down at his leg covered by the remains of his trousers and the other clad entirely in snake and had the vague idea that he should be more disturbed by the view. Then Crowley squeezed his thigh, and the thought disappeared again.

Crowley hooked his fangs into the remaining trouser leg and tugged it downwards. His coils tightened involuntarily as he moved, and Aziraphale choked out a breath. "Perhaps I should miracle that off?" Aziraphale said, but his powers seemed very far out of reach. Crowley ignored him.

Crowley's fangs slid down Aziraphale's skin as he dragged the trouser leg off, touching, then lifting, then nicking him again. They left a trail of goosebumps in their wake and a few pinpricks of that strange warmth.

Aziraphale would have said something about shoes and socks and feeling rather silly, but Crowley was moving again. His head slithered up. His tail slithered down. He gave the bite marks on Aziraphale's captive thigh another squeeze.

"You're like a furnace," Crowley said, draping his top half around Aziraphale's shoulders. "It feels nice." He drew out his sibilants.

"Err… Thank you?"

Crowley's lower half rearranged itself between Aziraphale's legs. His tail tip ran up and down Aziraphale's leg, tickling the little hairs. It felt quite delightful, actually: smooth and quickly warming to his own body temperature. It delved under his sock garter and snapped it, playfully.

The slap of the elastic startled Aziraphale. He shook his head; he'd gotten dreadfully fuzzy for a moment there. And—goodness—there he was swinging in the breeze yet covered in snake. This was getting entirely out of hand. "Crowley," he said. "My dear, you really must tell me what's happened."

Crowley's front end swiveled up, filling his view. "Relax," he hissed.

"I'm afraid I'm finding that just a trifle difficult at present."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. Those, at least, were the usual gamboge windows to a surprisingly unjaundiced soul. Crowley's tongue flickered out. "You're nervousss."

"Well, yes, I must confess to a slight—"

"You think too much, Angel."

Something was rubbing against him. It slid against his unblemished thigh and up towards his crotch. Aziraphale craned his head to one side, and Crowley obligingly settled back around his neck.

Crowley's tail slid along Aziraphale's erection. The angel stared at his own cock, red and straining against the black scales. Apparently, the human body was quite capable of flooding itself with adrenaline while still doing… that. _Really_ , he thought at it. _I was under the impression you wanted to run_ away _from the Very Big Snake._

His body paid no more attention to him than Crowley did. The latter rubbed his tail up and down, sliding into the sensitive crease of Aziraphale's thigh. The drag of his scales was smooth elsewhere, but now, Aziraphale could feel little boney points pricking him. Crowley couldn't possibly have fangs down _there_ , could he?

Aziraphale was distracted from asking about snake anatomy by a practical demonstration of the same.

"Crowley…" he said. He swallowed.

 _Something_ had emerged from one side of Crowley's tail. It was a purplish red rather like a cactus fruit, but much larger. Barbs covered its two lobes—great white hooks that caught the light and stood out against the black and orange of Crowley's belly.

"Shhh," Crowley said. He rubbed his scaly cheek against Aziraphale's soothingly. His coils lifted Aziraphale, tilting his pelvis. The tail tip slithered down.

"I'm not certain that's entirely compatible," Aziraphale squeaked.

Had he been calm after the bite? He was decidedly not calm now. This was all a very, _very_ bad idea. Aziraphale struggled, but his arms were pinned back. The coils around his neck tightened, cutting off his air. _You don't need to breathe_ , he told himself. _You're fine. It's going to be fine._ He tried to wrench his lower body away, but his thigh was still pinioned by a thick coil of muscle, and his own wouldn't obey. Warm, and weak, and drifting—No! No, he had to focus. He had to—

Something pushed against Aziraphale's entrance. The cactus thing. It couldn't go inside. He couldn't...

"Shhh," Crowley said again, in his ear. He loosened his coils from Aziraphale's throat.

Aziraphale had time to gasp a single breath, before he felt the prick of fangs. Crowley slid home, two burning points in Aziraphale's neck. Whatever dose of poison he'd delivered before, it was nothing to this. Waves of heat rippled outwards from the bite, and Aziraphale couldn't think, couldn't move. It felt good. It felt so vilely, temptingly good, and _something_ was pressing into him.

He tried to clamp down, but all of his muscles seemed to have suddenly let go, like a marionette with its strings cut. Strange, bumpy protrusions rippled into him. The thing was oblong, too wide. Terribly wide. And still it pressed in.

" _Please_."

"Ssso warm."

And now Aziraphale was past the burn and stretch to where it narrowed again at the base. It slid more easily now. A little more, and a little more. Aziraphale panted. The movement stilled. Smooth belly scales pressed against his back. It was all the way in. That thing... The entire monstrous, wicked shape of Crowley's… of his _cock_.

Crowley let out a tiny hiss. His tail twitched.

"You'll tear me," Aziraphale choked out.

His head was swimming with the venom. It was like being drowned in honey. He had to make Crowley listen. They had to stop. If they moved carefully...

"They're not sharp."

Crowley's tail undulated like a wave, whipping his strange, serpentine cock free, then shoving it in to the hilt.

Aziraphale howled.

Oh, but it was true. Those little spines and hooks weren't sharp at all. They dragged and tugged at his opening. They sent strings of fire up his body. But they didn't cut, except perhaps at his self control.

Crowley rubbed their cheeks together again. He gave another little hiss of pleasure. "Snakes don't work quite like humansss, but for you, angel…" He thrust again.

The strange ridges thundered into Aziraphale, lighting up every nerve ending. He'd bought a few toys over the years, just one or two whenever he happened to pass by certain shops. But none of them had been like this. Not even the cleverness of the Milesians compared—and he remembered them being very clever.

Again and again, Crowley moved inside of him. Each time, his tail slithered along the crease of Aziraphale's thigh, brushing his cock, taunting him. It was just on the edge of what he needed. He twisted, seeking friction.

Crowley hissed in surprise. His tail jerked.

Aziraphale felt a flood of darkness inside. He gasped at the sensation. It was like bathing in the velvety, luxurious essence of the demon. It was like having expensive dark chocolate forced through his veins. This was precisely why he stuck to milk chocolate and cocoa loaded down with marshmallows. He'd let Crowley tempt him to an entire chocolate lava cake, but abstain from the single bittersweet square delivered to the table for his friend. It was too dangerous, this feeling.

He cried out in frustration, twisting again—trying to. Crowley held him fast. The serpent tightened on him, then relaxed, sated.

 _What?_ No, no, no. Now that was just not _fair_.

"Is sssomething the matter, angel?"

"Please."

"Mercy?"

" _More_."

"As you wish."

The serpent lifted his tail. His terrifying cock was retreating inside its pouch, but there, on the right side… _another?_ Aziraphale looked up in surprise. He'd mistaken the double-lobed organ for the two snakes reportedly had. He'd been wrong.

Crowley's tongue flickered out. He gave Aziraphale a deliciously predatory look.

The tail dipped back between Aziraphale's legs, tantalizing pressure still not quite enough, and then the second barbed and monstrous organ was pressing into him. His hole fluttered around it, twitching as it smeared the wet traces of the demon's previous climax. He'd never felt a human inside that way, but Crowley's come was demonic. Aziraphale's angelic being writhed at the contact.

This time, he was already both loose and sensitive. The strange cock glided into him, but the withdrawal…!

"That'ssss it, angel," Crowley said.

Aziraphale gasped as the barbs caught at him. The burn was magnificent. Waves of heat radiated from where they were joined—pulsed in his neck and his thigh.

"More," he whispered. "More."

Crowley's tail moved faster. His sinuous coils tightened on Aziraphale everywhere—limbs, chest, throat. Every instinct of Aziraphale's human body howled in terror. It rippled down his spine to mix with the exquisite torture of Crowley's cock.

Crowley's tail shifted. He brushed against Aziraphale firmly, and Aziraphale was coming, painting his serpent white even as he felt another flood of darkness within.

"My dear," he panted, when his body could be convinced it could breathe again. "That was marvelous."

"I'm glad you think so." Crowley's coils drew him upright.

Aziraphale blinked. There was a mirror opposite the bed. His own pale body looked positively decadent suspended against all that theatrical black decor and shiny black snake. The only colors in the room were flashes of Crowley's belly scales and… oh dear… 

"Snakes have excellent stamina," Crowley hissed. "We can use one while the other recoversss."

Aziraphale licked his lips. This cock looked as daunting as the other, like a double lobed cactus, but the color of its fruit. It made him think of cool drinks and too much time in the sun—but sunlight had never given him the burn currently churning inside of him and trickling its way down the insides of his thighs.

"Perhaps we should give it an hour or two," he said. "I may be a bit… err… sensitive."

"I'm going to make you _ssscream_."


	3. Chapter 3

He cried out when Crowley pressed in again. And again. His eyes leaked at the corners. By the fifth or sixth time, it wasn't pleasure anymore. It was only sensation. He might have struggled then if he's been able to think of it. He lost track for a while after that, hanging limp in the snake's coils.

The fire in his gut brought Aziraphale back to himself. It was the darkness Crowley had forced into him the first time, but it had spread, multiplied. Each time the snake reached his climax, the sensation expanded. How could there be so much of it when he could feel it dripping down his thighs, burning trails into his skin?

Aziraphale ached delightfully. How many minutes had passed?

Crowley was using the right one again, pressing in and rocking ever so slightly. His coils rasped over Aziraphale's fevered skin. He brushed over a nipple, causing Aziraphale to clench. Crowley hissed.

"My dear, I think, perhaps…"

"Again," Crowley said. He dragged a rough bit of his back across the other nipple.

"Oh!"

Aziraphale's hips bucked. The ridges of Crowley's cock were nearly painful as he clamped down on it.

This time, when Crowley came, it was slow. Aziraphale felt the irregular, oblong shape pulse. It pressed against him inside, not just in that single, delicious spot but everywhere. The flood of demonic essence bloomed, slow and inexorable, like a monstrous flower seeking the sun.

Aziraphale felt himself lifted again. He opened his eyes. Coils restrained each of his limbs. Between his legs, he could see the very base of Crowley's cock, just the slimmest bit of purple-red joining their bodies. Aziraphale's flaccid cock lay against his bitten thigh. His belly protruded over another coil, thrust towards the mirror, exposed, _displayed,_.

Crowley continued to shudder inside him. It wasn't Aziraphale's imagination: his stomach was swelling. The sensation of demonic presence and the physical pressure built together as Crowley ejaculated inside of him.

"Crowley, darling… Ah!"

The snake's head rested on his shoulder, yellow eyes meeting his in the mirror. "I've been sssaving up, jussst for you, angel," he said.

Finally, his tale ceased trembling. Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath. His hole ached. His stomach felt unnaturally distended, as after a particularly sybaritic banquet.

"That's, ah, very impressive, my dear," he said. "But I really think it's time for you to stop."

He couldn't stop looking. It wasn't much to look at—not compared to how it felt—but the bulge was obvious. Crowley had deposited so much inside of him that it showed. Aziraphale shivered.

Crowley's tongue flickered. "I can ssstil smell your lussst," he said. "If I ssstop now, it will all run out of you."

"Truly, dear, I couldn't take another drop."

"I wonder…" said Crowley in his ear.

In the mirror, Aziraphale saw something move. On Crowley's tail, his left-hand cock was expanding again, protruding from its sheath. It sprouted its hooks and bumps as it unfurled to brush against Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale gasped. Before he could protest, Crowley's tail jerked. The right-hand cock jerked from Aziraphale's body, releasing a rush of burning come. The angel screamed.

His entrance was on fire. The fluids rushed out of him, lubricating and inflaming him. His belly began to deflate.

Crowley surged. His other cock breached Aziraphale, rasping into his sensitive channel and plugging him again.

Aziraphale's limbs twitched spasmodically. He blinked back tears. "Please," he said.

"Pleassse?"

"Stop."

Everything stilled. Aziraphale was aware of his own gasping breaths, the burn of the cock inside of him. He looked up.

Crowley's eyes glowed yellow in the mirror. His cheek brushed against the vicious bite on Aziraphale's throat. "Sssay it again," he hissed.

"S… stop?"

"Like you mean it."

Oh, Aziraphale thought. He wants me to… _Oh._ In the mirror, he watched his own cock twitch back awake.

"Please, Crowley. Please, no more."

It came out a little tentative. Crowley wriggled around him, breath hissing.

"It… hurts?"

That was half true. His corporation was so confused, he couldn't have said whether it was pleasure or pain anymore, but it was too much, watching himself jolt in Crowley's grasp. Small, helpless.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale's legs apart and tilted him up, giving them both a better view of where his cock worked furiously.

"Ssspeak."

_He likes it when I beg_ Aziraphale thought. _Oh my._ His own cock was hard again. He twisted, trying to rub it against Crowley.

"Is this what you wanted? Me helpless? At your mercy?"

"Yesss."

Aziraphale stopped blinking back the tears and they poured down his cheeks. "I can feel you inside," he said. "Wet. Thick. Corrupting me."

Crowley made a sound that was half hiss half moan. His body coiled madly around Aziraphale's.

"Demon."

Crowley's cock twitched, and it was so much worse than before. So much _more_.

"Monster."

Aziraphale's stomach was growing. He felt bloated, heavy. Too much.

" _Serpent!_ "

Crowley tightened on him, hard. Then his cock began to withdraw. It twitched as it went, filling Aziraphale even more. His passage felt strange behind it—aching, but not empty like he'd expected.

The tip of the cock slipped free, still spurting. Aziraphale could see it in the mirror: how it deposited the last of its clear slime onto his entrance before withdrawing entirely.

"What…?" he mumbled.

The clear stuff clung there. A glob of it protruded from his opening, but nothing else came out.

"Mmmm…" Crowley made a pleased noise. "You look good enough to eat."

"Fattening me up?" His belly was bigger than before, squeezing out between two dark coils like a pregnant woman's. And he still couldn't get any friction on his cock.

"You don't know what you do to me, angel. Always eating and eating. Pleasuring yourself. It's obscsssene." Crowley's coils massaged Aziraphale's belly.

Evil, demonic fluids sloshed inside of the angel, but there was nowhere for them to escape. He moaned. "Touch me, you bastard."

The serpent chuckled. "Ssso deliciousss. I should have had you yearsss ago."

He unwrapped himself from Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale found himself once more on his back, the top half of the snake slithering out of sight below his distended belly. The barest flicker of a touch ghosted over his cock. Was that— Oh! Crowley's tongue came again, smelling him, tasting his unangelic lust.

"If you use your teeth, so help me—" Aziraphale panted.

Crowley rubbed against him. "Let me sssee you," he whispered. "Let me see you come."

The slide of his scales was agony. He pressed himself against Aziraphale's cock, his swollen belly, his stuffed and aching entrance. Harder, faster. Into the bite mark. Into his own fluids. Long and sinuous and so powerful.

Aziraphale's vision whited out. He screamed again as he came.

As he lay there, Aziraphale became aware of a new sensation. Something bumped the plug in his ass. He craned his neck but couldn't quite see.

Was that Crowley's muzzle pressed against his entrance? He couldn't possibly! His head was enormous! But the serpent had a different goal in mind. He wiped himself through his own semen, then slithered up Aziraphale's body, leaving a stinging trail. Back and forth he wiped his face on Aziraphale's nipples, all the time regarding him out of baleful serpentine eyes. His black scales glittered, streaked with both of their fluids.

Aziraphale couldn't stop the grin— _dopey_ Crowley would have called it. "You're so beautiful."

Crowley huffed.

"And evil. Very evil. Terrifying. Oh!"

One fang nicked his nipple. Immediately, Crowley rubbed himself over the cut, forcing his own fluids into it. The burn of demonic semen overwhelmed the soothing warmth of venom. Aziraphale cried out.

He looked down. His nipple was rosy, swollen. Crowley pricked the other and began his torture again. Aziraphale's cock twitched.

Even an angel had trouble keeping up without a miracle to help things along. His body was trying anyway: He could barely see his crotch over the curve of his belly, but he could feel himself start to rise again, little by little. He wondered if his thighs were turning as red as his nipples. He was covered in Crowley's bites and marks everywhere. They ached. Crowley's smell was all over him. Ground into him. Stopped up inside of him like an overfilled balloon. His body shuddered trying to expel the unnatural demonic essence, but Crowley had sealed him up tight. He'd never been so helpless or so full.

"I feel like a dormouse."

Crowley chuckled. "The feassst in Lusssitania."

Of course he remembered. The cooks had been masterful with every other dish—but the dormice had been so overstuffed they burst. Crowley had made a rude analogy and then held a cup of wine to Aziraphale's lips, encouraging him on to yet more gluttony. The tempter!

"The wine," Aziraphale said. "They had the most exquisite whites. Such minerality. And that marvelous rioja."

"I remember you preferring the sweet ones. That fortified wine—what did they call it?—the one with the nose like caramelizing raisins."

Aziraphale moaned.

"Now _that_ was a party! Roast dormouse in honey. Walnut stuffing everywhere. Soft goat cheese with herbs. Hard, sharp sheep's cheese. Pine nut cakes..."

He was on fire. The insides of his thighs were nearly numb. Now, the backs of his legs, his buttocks, his crack tingled with leaking demonic fluids. A few drops trickled down his calves. Crowley smeared another dollop across his sensitized nipples.

"Spiced mushrooms," Crowley said. "Sow’s udders stuffed with salted sea urchins, squid braised in wine and their own ink…"

Crowley coiled and looped around Aziraphale's cock, rubbing his stinging demon come into the tender flesh. His belly scales rasped over Aziraphale's chest. And all the while, the litany of foods continued.

"Fallow deer in onion sauce, roast wild boar in sweet wine and fish sauce..."

It was too much. The memory of the banquet crashed into the feeling of Crowley squeezing him, inside and out. Tears poured down. He couldn't see.

" _I can't. I can't._ "

" _One more._ Snails fattened on milk, fricassee of roses, fresh black figs so heavy and ripe that they droop from the branch and burst open under their own weight..."

"Crowley!"

Aziraphale came all over his full belly and—most embarrassingly for an angel—passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

The apartment was dark when Aziraphale woke. This had more to do with the expensive blackout shades over the window than with the time of day. Angels always knew what time it was if they cared to, and it was currently just after 8 a.m.

Aziraphale felt like a sponge that had been wrung out. He was also quite naked. He touched his stomach. Flat: it had deflated while he slept.

The black satin sheets under him were unpleasantly sticky with puddled fluids. That was the trouble with satin: it never wicked away moisture. But so _decadent_. Aziraphale ran his hands over the smooth surface. Crowley rarely engaged in anything so tedious as sweating. Perhaps, he hadn't encountered this problem with the sheets before.

Aziraphale stretched. He was sore all over, but not painfully so. Crowley had left him the bite marks and the mess on the bed to deal with. How long had he been lying there, unconscious and covered in Crowley's essence? It sent a dirty little thrill through him. How terribly _debauched_.

With a flick of his wrist, he banished the moister evidence from the bed.

His suit lay on a chair, folded and pressed. A faint scent like lemon detergent hung about it. It wasn't the sort of garment one actually washed, but it was the thought that counted—quite literally in the case of demons and the clothing they casually destroyed. Normally, Aziraphale would have been quite cross, but the memory sent a lovely frisson up his spine.

It was too early in the day for suits. Granted, Aziraphale generally wore his all through the night, but he rarely slept or went to bed at all—much less with that many feet of occult being. He had often wondered what it would be like with Crowley, but the reality had been… well… Aziraphale blushed.

He examined himself in the mirror of the en suite bathroom. Both bite marks were swollen and hot to the touch. He stroked a finger over them, leaching out the last of the venom. _Goodness_ , it was hours later, and his head was still floating. He'd had no idea Crowley was capable of that.

Aziraphale cleaned himself up the human way, shivering as he ran the washcloth over more hickeys and bites. His chest was a map of delightful little bruises.

He dried off with one of Crowley's decadent black bath towels. (He suppressed a chuckle. Really, the bathroom decor was a bit much, even for a demon.) A black robe hung on the back of the door. The silk whispered over Aziraphale's sensitized skin. It smelled like Crowley, but now was not the time to think about that on his own when the real Crowley was nearby.

He could sense a demonic presence somewhere in the apartment. It would have been pleasant to wake up together, but he supposed cuddling might be too much to expect, and the bed _had_ been awfully sticky.

Aziraphale found him in the kitchen. The demon sat at the table, staring into a tumbler of scotch.

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale said. "I would have thought mimosas would be more apropos."

Crowley flinched.

Peculiar. Crowley was wearing his sunglasses. That was a common occurrence, but indoors, alone with Aziraphale? And after last night? Aziraphale felt a mild pang of concern.

"I was thinking of breakfast. Perhaps that little Parisian-style cafe that just opened on—"

"Breakfast?" said Crowley in accents of loathing.

"Lovely meal. Starts the day." Aziraphale reached for the glass of scotch.

Crowley's hand shot out, seizing him by the wrist. His fingers were so long compared to Aziraphale's own. He had the elegant hands of a classical statue. Possibly quite a few classical statues: Aziraphale remembered his fondness for posing. Crowley's grip was hard. It sent another little shiver through Aziraphale's frame. Aftershocks of last night.

The moment stretched.

Crowley blinked. His eyes drifted up to Aziraphale's face, to his hand on Aziraphale's wrist. He released it abruptly. "How can you think of breakfast? How can you think of anything but…"

"Multitasking." Aziraphale smiled. "That's one of yours, isn't it?"

"One of… _Angel_ , I'm being serious. I could have _hurt_ you." He flinched at his own words. "I could have hurt you _worse_."

"I admit you were a trifle rougher than I'd pictured…"

Crowley let out an awful, strangled laugh. "Living up to my true potential. A better, more demonic Anthony J. Crowley."

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow. "I don't quite follow."

"That's what they sssaid," Crowley hissed. "Before they started cutting. Said it would fix me, remove my inhibitions. Bring out the real me. Violence. Lussst."

Until that moment, the _beginning_ of last night had entirely fled Aziraphale's mind. He looked at the scotch and had a dreadful thought. "Crowley," he asked anxiously. "You _did_ want to, didn't you? Because I—"

" _Want_ to?" The horrible laugh again. "Of course I wanted to. That's the whole point of that shit they dosed me with."

"Who did, dear?"

"Hassstur. That wanker Michael. It wasss what you might call a joint venture."

"It was intended as a punishment?"

"Of course it was a fucking punishment, angel," Crowley hissed. "They joked about it—what I'd do to you after being _blue-balled for that long_."

It was obviously a quote. "Hastur said that?"

"Michael. Sanctimonious prick seemed to think I'd give you the _ride of your life_ ," Crowley hissed.

"Goodness! I never expected to agree with Michael about something."

"It's not funny!"

"Oh, my _dear_."

Crowley's eyebrows were furrowed. He looked as though he were trying not to cry. His dark glasses did little to hide it from someone who knew him so well. Aziraphale raised a hand, but Crowley jerked away, stumbling to his feet.

Aziraphale took another step closer. "It's all right."

"All right? I woke up to find you covered in blood and _spunk_."

"Well, to be fair, most of the blood was yours. I'm perfectly fine."

"I can still sense… _me_ swirling around inside of you. _Tainting_ you."

Aziraphale's cheeks warmed. "That's a trifle Mills & Boon, don't you think?"

"Is that what you call _rape_?"

"Ravishment, surely?"

Crowley ground his jaw. He was obviously planning to be difficult about this.

"You enjoyed yourself last night," Aziraphale said, tartly.

"Enjoyed myself? You're bloody right I enjoyed myself."

Crowley moved with shocking swiftness. Aziraphale found himself plastered against the cabinets, enraged demon in his face.

"I've fantasized about fucking the priggishness out of you for _centuries_ , Angel: making you cry, making you sweat, making you beg. So yes, I _enjoyed_ myself." 

Aziraphale swallowed. Crowley was so intense, nearly shouting the words in his face. Crowley's hands fisted in the bathrobe were doing things to Aziraphale's insides. 

Crowley smiled nastily. "You're the best fuck I've ever had."

"Oh, well…" Aziraphale's cheeks burned. "The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you."

Crowley's face went blank.

Slowly, Aziraphale reached up. He pulled the glasses away. Underneath, Crowley's eyes were wide and desperate.

"Did you really fantasize about… last night?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley was silent for a beat. "Not… at first," he finally said.

"Not until you got frustrated trying to tempt me?"

"Not until I realized you were different from the rest of them."

Aziraphale chuckled. "A truly awful angel, you mean?"

"A truly _good_ one. I'd like to sock Gabriel, not fuck him. And Michael… ugh! No thank you! Nothing would make that lot dirtier than they already are, but you… You're so pure, except where I… Where my… um…" 

"I can sense you inside me too," Aziraphale said, still blushing. "It tingles."

Crowley's nostrils flared, like he was scenting the air.

Aziraphale had the sudden thought of a snake's flickering tongue. He clung to Crowley as his knees went weak. Oh dear, he thought, it really was quite precisely like a romance novel. One of the embarrassing ones.

Crowley's lips parted. He sniffed again. "I'm so sorry, angel," he said. "It should have worn off by now."

"Your venom? Ah… yes… well… I'm afraid this reaction is all me. Au naturale. Most unangelic."

Crowley blinked slowly. Then he smiled.

The demon was more than usually serpentine this morning; Aziraphale found it distracting. "I really am all right," Aziraphale said. "Quite wonderful, in fact. Which part of this was supposed to be a punishment, exactly?"

Crowley's eyes still had a bruised look, but at least his shoulders had relaxed. "They thought I'd go straight to you," he said, slowly. "I tried to stay away, hide somewhere till it wore off, but you came looking for me." His thumb brushed Aziraphale's cheek.

"Of course I came looking. I've been frantic."

"And I was too far gone to… to stop."

His hand was warm on Aziraphale's neck, covering the bite. It sent a spike of lust through the angel. "And for this unforgivable crime, I would, what, smite you? Run back to Heaven's waiting arms?"

"Fall, maybe. If I didn't break you too badly for even that. They had a few scenarios in mind. Got to hear all about them while they smeared that shit into the cuts. I tried to resist at first, but eventually…"

It must have taken days, Aziraphale realized. Days of listening to these scenarios. Of imagining how this morning after would go. "Well," he said. He cleared his throat.

"Couldn't make up their minds whether I'd want to hurt you or want to fuck you more. Deep down."

Aziraphale snorted. That was just like both their sides—their _former_ sides—unimaginative to the last. "It's a good thing they don't know you at all." He stroked a hand through Crowley's hair. "Or me."

"Angel…"

"Kiss me, you bad, bad demon. And then take me to breakfast."

Crowley laughed and did so.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Serpent You Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20971199) by [PhagePods (justaphage)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaphage/pseuds/PhagePods)
  * [Snake Me To Bed (fanart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989350) by [Ultramarine316](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultramarine316/pseuds/Ultramarine316)




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